


Success & Sin

by HaephestusCrex



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! - All Media Types, Yu-Gi-Oh! Duel Monsters (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Awkward Romance, Business, Businessmen, F/F, F/M, Gangs, I'm Bad At Summaries, Reader-Insert, Relationship of Convenience, Romance, Sex, at first anyway
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2020-06-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:06:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24480991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HaephestusCrex/pseuds/HaephestusCrex
Summary: In which you, the skyrocketing success President & CEO of Sinclair Cosmetics have finally broken away from the shadow of your former partner and have been invited to one of the most exclusive billionaire feelgood fundraiser events of the century - The Golden Pledge.Unfortunately for you, your assigned seating with beside Seto Kaiba.The phrase "A picture says a thousand words" would quite literally haunt you.----Fem!WoC!Reader x SK
Relationships: Kaiba Seto & You, Kaiba Seto/Reader
Comments: 3
Kudos: 37





	Success & Sin

Success & Sin

_Chapter One_

**_The Golden Pledge_ **

The Golden Pledge is an event held once a year, first originating in the UAE - the United Arab Emirates, as way for wealthy oil tycoons to be seen distributing their wealth across charitable causes. Over the years it ballooned into a worldwide event held in a different location each year, which, only within the last five, has sought to cut down the cost of hosting it or at the very least, setting the extravagant fee to be the absolute minimum that needed to be raised by the cabal of wealthy elite. Yes, The Golden Pledge originally started as a feel-good event for the upper echelons of society to paper over their less than stellar business practices, but it did result in a large, and largely transparent dispersal of funds that go directly to charities where their donations meet or exceed their general overhead costs. Over time, it’s become more of a sought-after invite-only event that in itself was a staple of success.

During its time as a weapons company, KaibaCorp had been suspiciously absent for many years, at least, until now. No one is sure what changed, or why, but on the ornately spread out reserved seating inside Kyoto’s Congressional Centre, “海馬かいばコーポレイション KC,” was emblazoned on one of the table placards. They had, initially, expected a representative of the company to show up, perhaps the regional head for the Western regions, at a push, perhaps the young Vice President from the Asia division with an adult entourage. What was unexpected, at least, for those in the tech industries, was that the creator and infamously cold, titan of the field himself, would be representing KaibaCorp himself.

The event is swamped with a mixture of the extravagantly wealthy, from philanthropic duchy related to foreign royalty, oil barons and tech industry tycoons. It was becoming more of the latter, but large owners of corporate titans of the electronics world were becoming more and more prevalent. The heads of incredibly dominant industries in the automotive industry are there, as well as exclusive designer brands and figureheads from the world of beauty and fashion. That said, the event is mostly a cluster of older businessmen from different countries, with occasional wives brought as plus ones and a small upsurge of younger millennial entrepreneurs who had managed to break through as unstoppable successes in the field of constantly failing fortune 500 companies.

It was in part, a schmoozing event - it always had been, which happened to result in something good at the end of it. This is no exception for you - who had strode in with only a single person in your entourage. You made a low impact entrance, but in truth, you didn’t need to be overly flash. You didn’t need to be flanked to the left and right - your bodyguard was treated as a plus one, and that was that. Everyone is aware of the guest list for the Pledge, and so everyone is looking out for those _somebodies_ that they want to network with. This was true for you, because the moment you enter the building, your eyes adjust behind the set of black and crystal encrusted edges of the otherwise sleek frames that dim the bright lights of the chandeliers.

In the throng of the finely dressed men, your keen stare easily picks out the few you need to talk to. Alfonso Bresciani - the Italian President and CEO of a designer clothing label named after himself, he’s hard to miss - a man that commands his own air and has a small cluster of people hanging off his every word. Emmanuel Weaver - the President of SUSTAINCORE, a USA based company with a headquarters in Seattle, whom you partnered with recently in the business sense, was someone who was set to attend, but you couldn’t pick him out of the crowd.

You felt a fair few sets of eyes on you, but dutifully ignore them. The last thing you needed was to look rattled by the combined net worth of the men in the room. There aren’t terribly many female CEOs in business as it is, and surprisingly few in the beauty industry. There is a female presence in the event, but it is largely those that are partners of the named and invited attendees or they’re the wait staff, so the last thing you should do is give off an air of uncertainty or weakness.

And so, you do not - with the confidence of your bodyguard behind you, you square your shoulders back and keep your wariness behind a pair of shades.

Upon entering the threshold, you’re directed by a staff member to your assigned seating when your invite is positively identified. The veil of exclusivity is lifted, and in just a few moments you are submerged in this world of the extravagantly wealthy. The room is partially carpeted and split across, with an area for a live orchestra and dance, and where there isn’t glistening beige tiling, the rich red carpeting is so soft the edge of your heels sink in every so slightly with each pronounced stride.

“Ah! There’s a sight for sore eyes, just _look at you!_ ” the voice of someone you’d largely heard over Teams Meetings jarred you out of your thoughts. The knot of anxiousness and anticipation dissipating when you’re greeted by somebody semi-familiar. He fawns a little bit over your gown, because this is a black-tie-and-ballgown event, you’re dressed to the nines and it shows. Head to toe in delicate rose gold colours, in a long, slender piece of haute couture. It’s on the more daring side, clinching at the upper waist, the chest is entirely nude with ornate, silver embroidery creeping all around your chest to make up the top half of the outfit, with only a matching rose gold bit of body tape to cover the nubs your breasts and not detract from the heavy ornamentation of the couture. To give you a sense of coverage and elegance, your shoulders and upper arms are covered by a draped cape that begins as a wrap-around collar from the base of your neck, the cape stopping short of your hips and giving you a tall silhouette. 

Turning to the source of the cooing, you’re greeted by a middle-aged man with black hair and a stubbly salt and pepper beard that gave him a casual look that juxtaposed the sharp Armani window-pane wool shade. Despite its muted tones, you instantly recognise it and feel your lips twitch. It was a good sign.

“Emmanuel Weaver?” you smooth your tone, and the man smiles warmly. He’s exactly the way he looks in video conferences, though perhaps a little more svelte than you expected.

“Body and soul,” he grins “-It is a pleasure to finally meet you in person Ms Sinclair,” - he shakes your hand, and instantly you feel like your drowning in how terribly forward and so very _American_ he sounds. His voice is just a note deeper, and a smidgen louder than your ears expect, and his entire body language is overly exposed, and open.

“Likewise, Mr Weaver - it’s good to see you, even better to see you in -- _that,_ ” you gesture you to his ensemble, and the man chuckles a bit in response. “I was worried I was overstepping when I sent that, but I do detest those horrid, impersonal little corporate gift baskets that people are so fond of sending out en masse,” you purse your lips as you state this, relaxing your guard slightly.

“Ah, well, if you can’t tell, the business world so often lacks a woman’s touch,” he gestures vaguely to the room around them and lowers his tone when he says it, almost conspiratorially. “-So the gift hamper is the lazy man’s all purpose solution to honouring corporate friendships. Usually an assistant would handle all of that, though,” Emmanuel takes pause for a moment, before smiling “I shouldn’t be so surprised this was hand chosen, you do have impeccable tastes. I was a little lost on what to wear for this event, but I knew I could trust your choice - how was Paris Fashion Week?” even though he’s the head of a company that largely specialises in helping business package sustainably, Sinclair Cosmetics had closed a huge deal with SUSTAINCORE to eliminate non-biodegradable waste product by the year 2025.

You make idle chatter with the man, pleasantly surprised he’s done his homework not just on you, but most the attendees there. Admittedly, you had rather tunnel vision, and had only focused on those you had planned to network with. He knows you, and he knows some of the more prolific attendees - and the news surrounding the Pledge itself, and fills your knowledge gaps.

The pair of you are near your table, while Emmanuel gestures to where his is, a little way further to the back.

“I’m surprised they have you placed here, did they not catch the memo about you and Schroeder?” ah, this is what you liked about Emmanuel, he was straight to the point.

“Hm? Oh, that. The organiser did contact me about the seating you know but I have no desire to be put anywhere near Banderras,” folding your arms beneath your chest, you turn and glance at the placard and shrug - because you were certain most people would be moving and mingling anyway. “They asked if I’d be alright next to the Kaibas, but they haven’t arrived yet and I don’t particularly care one way or the other - why are you looking at me like that?”.

“Nothing, no reason,” he smiles, though a bit tersely, before offering to introduce you to a few more people, at least, until he’s pulled to one side by a German man who greets you warmly, eyes tracing over your form before you brusquely move towards your seating. Thankfully the general grandiosity has you generally fitting in with the mood and tone of the evening, but there are few women and even fewer in your age range, so your dress - even if it _is_ an fall exclusive couture piece that was made to measure from your last invite to a red carpet beauty & fashion event, is certainly a bit more daring than some. That said, there are a scattering of plunging backs - and necklines, but with only a single person in your entourage, you do feel a little exposed. Everyone was hooking arms with someone, and there’s a fair few power couples at this function.

Hisato, as though sensing your nervousness, just walks a little bit closer - though stays appropriately behind you. He’s more of a friend than a bodyguard at this point, and considering you always tried to keep your entourage as three or less for public events - being that they’d be crawling with additional security as it is, he was probably the closest thing to a plus one.

He pulls your chair out, and moves to sit further away before you shake your head and tap the side of the table where there is a gap - for him to pull the chair into somewhat begrudgingly. Not because he feels out of place, but because he worries for your public opinion. Hisato is a short, but incredibly muscular man, packed into a tailored suit and Oxford shirt that is buttoned high, yet a creeping snake tattoo that stretches almost to his jawline reveals the sort of person he used to be. Not that you should judge a book by it’s cover, but the Japanese and their general opinion of tattoos - rightly or wrongly, is that they’re reserved for thugs, gang members and criminals. However, in this instance, they would be correct. At least, in the past tense. It does explain why he’s the singular member of your security team that you prefer to have guarding your persons rather than a fleet of men, however.

He’s good enough at personal protection that you rarely ever felt you needed more than Hisato.

“Oujo-sama, the others are arriving,” he murmurs to you gently, and does so in Japanese - almost on instinct.

You nod once, acknowledging it, but are idly tapping on your phone, finely manicured and painted nails hashing out a quick message to one of your assistants back in your central branch. You’re so lost in it, because the event is taking far longer to fill up than you had thought - that you do not look up, even when a shadow is overcast your body from someone leering above you _. It was probably just someone weaving their way through to their own table -_ you assume.

“You’re in my seat,” - the voice is masculine and cold, and brooked no room for argument. You don’t look up, however, catching the reflection of some glacial blue eyes in the reflective bits of your phone, you merely stretch out an acrylic nail and slide the placard a little closer to the vacant chair directly to your right.

“Are you in the right place?” he bites out - his English immaculate though possessing a faint accent, and you _finally_ look up, distinctly annoyed by the tone levied your way.

For a moment, your mouth dries up, and you find yourself tapping _your_ placard with the end of a white painted acrylic nail, which listed your name and title - emphasising the title.

_President, CEO - Sinclair Cosmetics_

So, this was the Seto Kaiba that had induced such a poorly contained grimace from Weaver. He’s tall - incredibly so, probably a little past 6”ft if you had to place a guess, made even taller with an elegant pair of black Cuban heels, and a neatly tailored likely- _Valencio_ suit with a high necked silken dress-shirt and simple tie. He’s a very handsome man who looks expensive without flaunting it, which is different to how he usually presents - as obnoxiously flared coats and almost peacock-esque with his demonstrable wealth, it seems he’s made an effort for the Pledge. He doesn’t need to flaunt among peers, though he is looking at you with a look that is close to disdain.

“Seto!” a younger voice breaks the tension, and your eyes flit to the neatly dressed small boy at his side. He couldn’t be older than thirteen if you had to guess - though you’re horrible with guessing ages, and he’s dressed equally nicely though with a more daring colour palette. Navy suit slacks, a dark beige suit jacket, a navy tie to match his trousers, and a lilac dress shirt paired with a darker purple waistcoat. “Don’t be mean,” though his tone sounds more pleading than scornful, he turns his big dark eyes towards you. Seto Kaiba doesn’t respond, but pulls his seat out in such a way that it makes a little more of a gap between you - utterly uncaring for the side-eye being directed to him from your guard.

“I’m sorry,” the young boy says in a lower tone, before offering a hand out to you “-it was a long car ride. It’s nice to meet you - oh, um, I’m Mokuba, by the way, Seto’s my big brother,” he seems just a little awkward, though full with gleeful spirit, with only a faint blush on his cheeks when you take his hand and shake it firmly.

“A pleasure,” you drawled. You weren’t particularly bothered at being placed there, but from the look in the older Kaiba’s eyes, you can tell that he is. He perhaps expected to be sat beside a technology mogul or someone more related to his industry, since the seating plan seemed to roughly follow in that vein. At least, that is what you had assumed he was thinking, judging from his sneer at your placard.

What you didn’t expect, was recognition.

“Aren’t you Zigfried’s wife?” there is unmistakable distaste in his tone, and you mentally began making a tally in your head, because you would wager you might get reactions like that from those that did not recognise you from your success within the beauty industry.

“Partner - not wife, and formerly yes,” you said, your tone is crisp and dismissive. “He’s preoccupied with the release of the Rosenguard and is currently trying to launch in China, so I do not think he’ll be coming,” - not that you’d know in any detail, the ins and outs of a man as self-absorbed as Zigfried von Schroeder was beyond you. Often you were fairly certain he wasn’t even interested in women, but as camp as he could be and how incredibly obsessed he was over overtaking KaibaCorp, he’d finally found his niche in the tech industry with the successful launch of several web security tools and now, the release of a highly successful VPN that he was hoping to make a household name. Zigfried and you had parted on somewhat decent terms, all things considered, but _you_ had been his plus one at a few large scale events, so while he’s a footnote to those who only know you from your self-made success, there are a scattering of well-informed people representing parts of the technology industry that will be regarding you with some curiosity.

“I received _my own i_ nvite Mr Kaiba. If you want to have a pissing contest I highly suggest seeking out the European representative for Industrial Illusions, I think I saw him seated over by the orchestra,” - at this statement, the younger boy, Mokuba, lets out an ungainly noise at your tone. Nobody just _spoke_ to Seto like that, or at least, if they did, they couldn’t expect to be treated kindly by him. Yet you didn’t seem particularly bothered, and had barely looked at the man once.

“If you’re wondering why we’re sat together, your guess is as good as mine, I only specified I had no desire to be nowhere near _Banderras_ \- and they took that to mean I wished to be seated as far away from my peers as possible. I am no more thrilled about this than you, but you’re a big boy, you can get up and talk to whoever you like,” your tongue is pure silver, and your tone is disrespectful, acidic and dismissive.

It instinctively raises up Seto’s blood pressure, though the stoic man doesn’t show it - save for narrowing his eyes slightly.

“I’ll assume your tone is why you’re an _ex_ partner,” it seems that Seto Kaiba can deliver as good as he gets, despite how visibly uncomfortable it was making Mokuba. He looked as though he was trying to will his soul out of his body, despite appearing calm, his eyes were moving to other people in the room as though he was looking for a reason to excuse himself. Mokuba is very used to his brother and his churlish moods, but it was another thing to direct it at a stranger who, in accordance to the rules of the Pledge event, was on the same sort of net worth as the rest of the people in attendance.

However, combined with the type of shallow seeming industry you are entrenched in, and your apparent history with one of KaibaCorp’s former rivals - which are now more like unwilling bedfellows, it seemed that there was very little about you that was going to give Seto Kaiba a positive disposition towards you.

“And I’ll assume your tone is why you’ve had none,” - you reply sweetly, without missing a beat. Hisato cringes in his seat, because it was like witnessing an unmovable force meeting an unstoppable object when you began trading casual barbs with the most powerful man in Asia.

“Oujo-sama, you don’t have to tolerate this, we can move,” Hisato hisses to you gently in Japanese, again, on instinct, though it is clearly understood by everyone at the table, you hold your hand up to him and switch effortlessly to his mother tongue.

“It’s alright Hisato, this is the most fun I’ve had since we got here,” you wave him off, and the language switch clearly threw Mokuba off, though to Seto’s credit - he doesn’t react, and merely cocks an eyebrow in your direction.

“Your Japanese is really good!” Mokuba blurts out quickly - and _loudly -_ trying to break the ream of barbs and insults and drain out the rude tension at the table.

“You can thank my guard for that, I’ve been doing business in your neck of the world for a while,” you said shortly, though a lot less aggressively in tone than you had been since the Kaiba brothers came and sat down.

“Really? That’s so cool - I um, don’t know much about makeup and stuff,” Mokuba quickly interjects when he thinks his brother might reply, and is eager to keep the positive line of communication - the best he could hope for is that Seto might just start ignoring that you and your guard are sat there.

“Ah, well… we’re trialling out a boutique in Shinjuku soon,” you settled into conversing with Mokuba a bit when it seemed that Seto was turning his attention to a man who had walked over to the table and immediately made a bee-line towards him. “We’ve taken some focus group input and research on different aspects of the Asian beauty market so… it’s a new, ambitious venture, but since we transitioned so well from Europe to the United States, it just felt like an untapped market,” - there was something a little jarring about someone head to toe in something usually worn by runway models talking business with a young boy, but it was surprisingly comfortable.

However, it did perhaps give off the impression that you could be interrupted unceremoniously - even if it was one of the Kaiba’s you’re speaking to, not every person in attendance knew of them - or if they did, they didn’t appear to care.

“Oh, Sinclair!” the all too familiar sugar-sweet drawls of Banderras washes over you and instantly drains your sliver of good will. Mokuba watches as your face darkens before you even turn around, and you politely excuse the man in Japanese - on his behalf, even if he didn’t know it.

“I’m surprised to see you at one of these things,” an olive-skinned, rather dapper man approached you. He has bleached platinum but immaculate hair and a sharp jawline, with only a few signs of age around his grey eyes, decked out in a pinstripe suit and Italian leather shoes with a white trim - he oozes a sort of vanity just from looking at him. “Mr. Schroeder in the bathroom is he?” he chirps, but the slight and insult is there. He’s implying you’re a jumped up little upstart who wouldn’t be invited to one of these events unless on the arm of someone more successful. However, having just sharpened your tongue against the CEO of KaibaCorp - who is casually listening in when he picks up on the name _Schroeder,_ you respond with effortless icy derision.

You had about filled your boots with men talking down to you for the evening and the event hadn’t even fully kicked off yet.

“Ah, I believe my former partner elected not to come, but he’s a grown man, he can do as he wishes - speaking of no-shows though, I didn’t see you at the Bal des Débutantes last month, shall I assume your invite got lost in the post?” - at this, Hisato poorly contains a snort, he rarely loses composure but his exposure to your world has educated him thoroughly and just from the look on the man’s face - you had ruined his evening with just a few words. The Bal des Débutantes was a high-exclusivity luxury event in the fashion and beauty world with few like it. All gowns are only haute couture and the creators are some of the richest or most famous men in the world - Presidents and royal families would show off their daughters at that annual event, all other events in Europe’s fashion world pale in comparison.

What you miss, however, is how agitated Mokuba Kaiba got when he was interrupted.

Therefore, it is very easy to miss his retaliation. Maybe Mokuba always had a bit of a mean streak, or it was particularly more pronounced now he was hitting his teens, but he’s very slowly pouring a dark red wine on the table, directly behind the man whose perched himself on it - rather _rudely -_ as though he owns it, and doesn’t care that Mokuba and _Seto fucking Kaiba_ are sitting there.

“Oh, as catty as ever,” the man smiles and tries to sound like he’s taking it good-naturedly, though his expression has dimmed. “-No but really, well done! Nobody, and I mean _nobody_ \- thought we’d ever see you at one of _these_ events, why don’t you come to our table for a while? All the big players are here. Show off who you’re wearing!” he pauses, and then looks you up and down in a manner that makes you visibly tense. “Who _are_ you wearing?” he asks, a note of judgement in his voice.

He clearly hasn’t realised the dark red wine now wetting his backside.

“It’s haute couture - Zahir Murasa’s fall collection if you must know,” you sighed, visible irritation in your voice. “Though I wouldn’t be so concerned with what I’m wearing, I think you’ve got a little…” you trail off, and gesture to the strategically placed wine glass, which looks tipped over, that is directly behind him.

He practically leaps off the table, letting out a loud noise that draws more attention than he intends, and quickly takes off his jacket to wrap it around himself.

It’s incredibly hard not to share Mokuba’s smile.

“Oh you clumsy little brat!” he snipes, before he can help it - and Seto, despite being presently aware of what Mokuba was up to, snaps his attention to the man, dismissing the person who was talking to him.

“Watch your tone, that’s the Vice President of KaibaCorp you’re speaking to - and my little brother. Maybe don’t sit yourself _on somebody’s table,_ who _are you_ anyway?” he manages to lump so much insult and derision into his tone that even you falter - because by comparison his barbs at you weren’t half as vitriolic.

“Francisco Banderras,” he bites out “-President of the Banderras designer brand, maybe keep an eye on your little brother. I didn’t even think they let anybody bellow the age of eighteen to these things,”.

“Never heard of you, now get out of my sight before I get you removed,” - a certain boredness now leaks into Seto’s vitriolic tone, and Banderras looks as though he’s been slapped in the face. When he looks at you for some input, you just brush a dark curl from your face and look at him as though you’re vicariously embarrassed by his behaviour.

“You should probably go and clean up anyway sweetie,” you smile, which is almost worse than anything that has been said to him thus far, and then turn your head away from him completely, focusing entirely on Mokuba, your smile looking more and more mischievous until the embarrassed and irritated man leaves the vicinity,

“Y’know, maybe sitting here isn’t so bad. This really is _thee most_ fun I’ve ever had at one of these stupid little billionaire feel-good events,”.

Mokuba smiles.

You smile back.

Seto Kaiba is pointedly trying to forget you’re there, though is generally facing you - watching Banderras’s figure retreat into the crowd, presumably heading towards a bathroom to clean himself up a bit.

But, people are used to seeing you as a plus one for Zigfried von Schroeder, his former rival, and now, you’re here on your own merit, however - sitting directly next to Seto Kaiba himself.

Something as simple as a seating plan would spawn something that would get far out of either of yours control.

All it took was one little click.

One little… camera phone _click._

**Author's Note:**

> Not my strongest first chapter but I just wanted to get this concept *wrote* and started so I can gauge GA reception & if it's good I'll plan more around it and give this fic some more effort & planning. I'm just Seto Kaiba loving trash.


End file.
